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Sunday, June 13, 2010

I have a small dog. He’s part miniature poodle, part Maltese. He is adorable. When I got him as a puppy, he fit right in my hand. He has a soft curly white coat with tips of a soft orange-brown. His eyes are round, shiny bright orbs of black. He looks like he should sit on a velvet pillow all day being fed choice bits of fillet Mignon. He should act like royalty, bred only for the best and finest carried hither and yon in a Gucci tote. Unfortunately, that is not Biscuit’s nature.

Biscuit has the heart of a Rottweiler and the soul of a junk yard dog. He has no fear of other dogs, no matter of their size. The dog niceties of initial observation then smelling one’s butt, is lost on Biscuit. He’s ready for a fight as first sight. He snarls with passion bearing his wee teeth. To his own ears his soprano barking must sound like the most awesome baritone. No insect or lizard is safe from Biscuit’s wrath. He is the alpha dog in my pack of three; his beagle brothers suffer his machismo with great patience. Perhaps they are truly cowed by his attitude or maybe, it’s because of Biscuit’s impressive, albeit useless for it’s intended purpose, penis.

There has never been a stuffed animal or fuzzy slipper made that Biscuit didn’t fall in love with. If I wanted to keep my slippers safe, they had to be placed on a shelf. Any stuffed animal at Biscuit level would be dragged from its place and attacked with abandon. I gave him several stuffed critters that were about his size. They became his “girlfriends”. He will toss them in the air, pounce on them, chase and fetch them and wring their necks (like a good mouser) but his favorite thing to do with his “girlfriends” is to make love to them. He has done this since puppy hood and continues now into old age. Biscuit’s sexual prowess seems legendary compared to the other two dogs that have never had much interest in sex. Their main interest lies in food.

It was a few days after I brought Biscuit home from the vet’s after his neutering surgery that the enormity of his manhood became apparent - much to the dismay and horror of me and my husband. Biscuit seemed not the worse for wear after the surgery. He was eating, drinking and being his usual macho self. He pulled out one of his “girlfriends” from the toy box and after his typical brand of foreplay; he proceeded to delight her with his love making. After a few minutes, he stopped. Mulder glanced over at him and then got up off the chair to take a closer look. I was in the kitchen when Mulder came in, pale and very serious. “Something is wrong with Biscuit,” he said. Thinking maybe he’d opened his wound, I ran to check him. What I saw was my adorable little dog, my sweet baby, my darling, with the biggest erection in the universe! Biscuit is the Ron Jeremy of the dog world!

This had never happened before. Neither I nor my husband knew what to do. Biscuit seemed unconcerned but didn’t seem able to walk. “Call the vet! NOW!,” I yelled at Mulder. Had he not been so shocked at Biscuit’s display, he would have made me call but he just picked up the phone. After the receptionist answered, my husband realized he was going to have to tell her what was going on. “Um …. Biscuit was just neutered on Thursday and um …. He was playing with a toy and um…” Embarrassment had taken hold, the man was damn near speechless. “Oh! God … um… now he, um… Jesus …” I was actually enjoying his torment but wanted to help Biscuit so I just yelled out, “He’s got a ginormous erection! What can we do?” Since Mulder was near me I heard the burst of laughter from the receptionist and her asking, I hope the vet who was nearby, how to remedy the situation. Another voice came on the line, shaking with laughter, and told us that it should go down by itself. Take the toy away and if he wasn’t “back to normal” in an hour, bring him in. More uncontrollable laughter was heard as Mulder hung up the phone.

An hour! Good grief! I couldn’t let him stand around like this for up to an hour! I decided to take action. Ice is always good for swelling, right? I rummaged in the freezer for an ice pack. The beagle brothers hearing movement in the kitchen decided they would take a look at what was going on because there just might be food involved. After cursory sniffs at Biscuit’s rampant nether regions and a few snorts returned to his snarls, they didn’t see food in the offering and went back to sleep. I gently applied the ice pack to Biscuit’s penis, he didn’t appreciate the attention but it worked like a charm. Within a few minutes, he was back to normal. I doubt my husband will ever recover from the sight or the phone call. I also keep an ice pack at the ready just in case Biscuit decides to show us who’s “The Man” ever again.

nitebyrd ~ I got some goodies for sale if ya wanna go see. Ya know that book I gave ya at Xmas, well I got another one to sell. No hun, I'm not trying to get ya to buy but if ya know of anyone,unless ya wanna buy? any friends over there who might be interested. Am havin a tidy out. I guess you'd call in gagrage sale, but I don't have a garage ;)

Indi ~ Biscuit, regardless of his organ size, is my baby. I love him dearly. He is spoiled rotten, the little shit!

Hubman ~ Yes, they do tend to be a wee bit easier. Although, years ago, my female miniature Schnauzer nursed an abandoned litter of kittens and was totally bereft when they were weaned and given away. Such dog drama!

Joker ~ It really was a remarkable sight. :-O

Ronjazz ~ Thanks. I was pretty damn funny even while it was happening.

Ron ~ Thank you! You're so nice to do a re-read! ;)

Akelamalu ~ I was terrified at first but when the vet's office started laughing then I knew my baby would be okay and could see the humor in the situation.

nitebyrd ~ don't know if you ahd a peek yet but I've deleted that post. I've come to the conclusion that her paintings are not worth buying... so I'm going to ditch the paintings and re-use the frames of which I paid for in the first place. I'll have to find some thing else to flog for my cancer fund, but there's no immediate rush for that yet.

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About me

This is a blog by a woman in her 50's who is finally on the crooked path to find who she truly is.
Married at 19 and divorced at 53. I am going to unearth the artist, the cynic, the free spirit that has been long buried. Or die trying.
I've left Bethlehem
and I feel free...
I've left the girl I was supposed to be
and some day I'll be born.
~Paula Cole